Fated
by Anom
Summary: For many years their game has been played and while neither will concede, he knows time is ever his ally. She is mortal, and as inevitably as she came to him, inevitably will she yield to him." Kirsty/Pinhead, after the movies
1. Running

Bare feet slapping on stone floors, echoing down the endless hallways of Hell.

Her arm is laid open to the bone and lags useless behind her, leaving a messy trail of blood. There are hooks ripping her flesh, still trailing broken chains that once bound her. The woman doesn't seem to notice. She has had worse.

She hears her own ragged breath over the sound of her feet, it is exhaustion with a heavy undercurrent of terror well learned by her time here. She barely remembers a time when she wasn't overpowered by fear, perhaps that is merely a figment of her imagination.

She's so tired. She's so scared.

But clutched in her other hand is a cruel spear, stolen from her tormentor on the frantic flight to freedom. She's tired, she's hurt, she's so terrified her heart feels like it may stop any moment, but she's still fighting.

A creature springs from the darkness lured by the scent of a mortal's blood. Her instincts, sharpened by desperation, tell her when to brace her one good arm. The monster slams halfway down the spear before catching, and its slavering jaws snap inches away from her face. She does not move, and the creature slowly wastes away.

She keeps running.

The hallways are endless.

She won't stop.

Nothing will make her go back, she'll die first, she swears it under her breath a thousand times as she runs.

Shrill laughter mocks her as an ill proportioned figure slides along the wall. Black leather clings to it like a second skin and chains dangle musically from its twisted hide as it paces her. She doesn't stop to question why it leaves her be.

The Cenobites know this game well enough by now. It has been played through countless times before, but the woman does not know that. She is not allowed to. And so she fights for her life as if this is her only chance to escape. What is the most desperate moment of her existence is but an amusement to her captors.

The thing on the wall slings chains at her heels and gives up the chase, allowing its screeching to follow her awhile longer and then leaves this round. The child is not for just any of them, and they know better than to take part in her suffering, lest they bring their own upon their head. The lesser demons do what they will, the woman is dangerous in her own right and can deal with them. The lesser cenobites can torment if they will, push her along, if they wish to risk their own hide. But she belongs to the greatest of them.

In life she had been an innocent, one the cenobites should have been barred from. Fate brought her into their reach, and her own quick wits saved her soul. Most mortals would have counted their blessings and never had dealings with demons again, much less try to get the better of them. She tried twice more, and succeeded. Three times a child of mortals outwitted Hell's executioners. Most of them knew only frustration. One of them found desire.

He had eternity to wait for her. Once touched by them, her soul was forever tainted.

Inevitably she came to their power. No matter how many times she dodged them all they had to do was wait for their next chance. When the day finally came they were greedy for her flesh, for her eternal soul. They would have taken turns, but he laid his claim. This mortal was his alone to instruct. She would play his game.

He had waited half a mortals lifetime to teach her the pleasures of pain and the pains of pleasure, not a long wait for one such as himself, but much longer than he was accustom to.

It is with delight he draws out her anguish, and it is her prerogative to fight him every step of the way. That's how he knows he chose wisely when he gave his interest to this woman. She screams and cries like all the rest, but she holds it back longer then they. She succumbs to the pain and takes the beatings, but she spits and curses when he draws near. For many years their game has been played and while neither will concede, he knows time is ever his ally. She is mortal, and as inevitably as she came to him, inevitably will she yield to him.

When the game grows slow, he lets her escape. So tortured, so driven to madness and back is she that she does not realize how many times she has run this same path. She feels dread in the deepest corner of her soul, the part that knows how this ends, but she doesn't understand it anymore. He knows it rekindles her spirit to let her run free, and she fights that much harder when the chains take her back.

She hears the chains before she sees them. They clank in the shadows the instant before they move for her. Although she knows it is useless she makes a wild leap to the side, expecting to feel the hooks in her skin anyway. Instead she feels them brush by. Up on her feet again and fleeing she knows he missed on purpose, she knows it is his pleasure to tease and taunt, and what better way then with her escape so close. His laughter haunts her now, the mere sound of his voice sending her near into fits.

"That's enough exercise for now Kirsty. Come back to your cage."

She wails, half defiant half hysterical,

"No!"

Her ankles are suddenly bound, a cold chain wrapping her legs and pulling. The wind is knocked from her lungs as she lands hard on the ground and she slides backward across the cold floor. The spear is useless against him, but she stills cries out when it clatters out of her hand. Steel twines around her arms as she manages to sit up and realizes she is at his feet.

"We've played this game before, child, surely you remember?"

As if his words are the trigger, she begins to realize the true horror of the situation. Suddenly she recalls uncountable times she has broken free and fled through these dark corridors. She remembers the chase done so many times, so desperate for her yet so effortless for him. It is always hopeless because this is his realm and she is a prisoner here, the very world heeds his whim. How can she ever hope to escape? Wet streaks are on her face and she absently realizes she is crying, but it seems to her the gesture is woefully inadequate for the despair she knows.

She knows from the faintest of smiles on his lips that he knows exactly what she is thinking. She knows he enjoys it, and that he enjoys tormenting her more than he has enjoyed anything in a long while. It's obvious to her, because he acts differently around her. It has taken decades for her to realize it, but somewhere along the way she has come to understand him better than any in his charge. When she first met him he seemed almost bored with his calling. He had been doing it for so long nothing was new, no surprises and no challenges. It was the same when she first spoke with him, the wrote responses and disinterest. By slipping through his grasp she had intrigued him and now he smiles when he sees her.

She knows this is far from a good thing. The last thing any creature could want is the exclusive attention of the Prince of Pain.

The woman is dragged along behind him, and he doesn't hide the pleasure on his face. She's not broken and he knows it. Beaten but still fighting, lost her hope but not her spirit. That's what he likes about her, that and the knowledge that someday she will thank him for what he is doing for her.

There is something in her that she either does not see or refuses to acknowledge, and part of his delight comes from bringing that out. From peeling away her mortal qualms and showing her the truth that lies at the center of her soul.

Very few humans make worthy cenobites, and he has since destroyed many he once made out of need. But this woman, he is certain, is suitable. With the proper instruction he can forge her into something both fearsome and lovely.

Her screams echo in the corridors as her soul becomes undone.

Tonight she is his victim, some day she will be his consort.


	2. Taken

She found the box was always sneaking into her thoughts. At work, the grocery store, taking a walk, her mind would slip back to whereever the cursed item was hidden that time. She switched where it was hidden often, she wasn't sure why, it wasn't as if anyone would come looking for it. The reason she gave herself was that it was safer to switch hiding places, the truth was she wanted the excuse to touch it. The box had a hold on her. She could _feel_ it. Sometimes she swore it was calling to her, sometimes...she thought she heard His voice.

And sometimes she was disappointed when she didn't.

Life just felt so pointless after the things she had been through. Go to work, come home, meaningless and brief interactions with shallow people. Repeat. She couldn't keep a job, she had trouble making friends, and the money her father had left would run out eventually.

She would wonder sometimes, watching faces in the crowd, if she would ever suddenly realize that she had passed someone like herself. She never did. No one escaped Them. People seemed to instinctually shy away from her, like the Cenobites had marked her and they could sense it.

On her part, it was difficult to be sympathetic when someone was complaining about work after she had fought her way out of hell. Life just had a different perspective now. Most people thought she was kind of a bitch. She thought most people didn't know how lucky they were to be ignorant.

Not to mention the nightmares. Those had never gone away. They pursued her so relentlessly she came to think of them as His way of keeping in touch. She could never get used to them, but she had learned to coexist with them. That seemed to be the case with a lot of things now. Day to day she existed more than lived, the most meaningful parts of her life were fought through and gone. A smattering of memories that she might have been able to write off as delusions if not for the one piece of evidence that always reminded her of the truth.

It got harder to put it away each time. She paused to look at the box again, really look at it. It was so beautiful despite - no - _because_ of what it really was. The smooth wood that betrayed no joints or lines framed by the shining brass finish, etched in designs whose meanings were long lost to time. By the time she had come to the decision her fingers were already sliding across the box's surface caressing its secret out.

Whatever had possessed her to open the box again wasn't important. Not after she had given in to its seductive call. Of course she had kept the box, it was impossible to destroy and she would wish it upon no one, so it had stayed with her. And because she had kept it, she seemed to realize, of course someday she would open it. Darkness engulfed the room, a faint blue light shown through the rising smoke and she knew there was no going back.

The sound of dry leather, like a snake scraping by. With a deep breath to brace herself, she turned, and he was there. Ever unchanging pale blue skin marred by artistic wounds in his chest and fitted in sensual black. Rusty tools swung at his hips. But as always, her eyes came to rest on his own deep, dark pits. His head was framed by a distinguishing halo of pins, it was so simple but so...brutally erotic.

She wondered what he saw when he looked at her, no longer so young but just as frail and mortal as always. She felt a curious mixture of fear and familiarity looking upon him. He was here for her again, and this time she had no plan. But he had been in her life so long she barely remembered the time before she knew of the box and its horrid wonders. Her family was gone, the few people she had invited into her life came and went, or were gotten rid of, but she could always count on him being there. Watching. Waiting.

The black eyes rested on her, and without preamble one hand came to give a delicate command.

"Wait."

She didn't scream it as she had the other times, desperate for the attention, grasping for a last chance. She spoke in confidence, more of a request than a plea. He thought at first, wondering what she would do if he did not heed her. There was no reason to listen. Despite himself, he paused, but did not give her to chance to continue before interrupting cruelly,

"And how many souls is yours worth this time, Kirsty? Ten? Twenty? One hundred? Have you so many enemies to offer me? Or perhaps you are just lonely?"

The emphasis on the word lonely was cruel and she couldn't help but wince. Maybe because it was too close to the truth. He stared with more than a passing interest and Kirsty shifted uncomfortably, but refused to back down. This level of defiance was new for her, either she had become much more brave, or perhaps foolish. Or maybe she no longer cared. Whatever the cause, he was delighted by the progression.

He had watched her whenever the moment allowed, he thought of it as keeping tabs on a promising investment. Whatever the other cenobites had thought they wisely kept to themselves. He would never tell her how much he had enjoyed, more than usual, tormenting her late husband. Such an ungrateful man. He had no idea the prize he had, yet he had thrown it away for the cheap pleasures of lesser females. Perhaps Kirsty underestimated her own worth, or perhaps she knew no human man could satisfy her and had chosen a doomed relationship.

The man still screamed in some dark corner of Hell, taking his turns with all the others foolish enough to tempt La Merchant's box. Perhaps, he allowed himself to muse, he would give him to her when she was ready.

"Don't you have enough souls already?"

"That was your offer. Not mine."

"That doesn't mean I wanted it."

"Of course, and what is it this time? Didn't know what the box was, didn't open it...didn't want me here?"

He started to walk, a purposeful half circle around her. Kirsty turned as he moved feeling like cornered prey.

"I think you did want me there. Clever, cunning little Kirsty. With Trevor's true color's shown what other choice did you have? You can always depend on us to clean up your less than admirable family members."

She wasn't sure how much of that last sentence was mockery, and played it safe pretending all of it was.

"I was doing what I could, just like always. What difference does it make if I got a bonus out of it?"

He chuckled darkly as if pleased by her callous disregard for the lives she had taken.

"I told you once before; Nothing I have given to you came without a price."

What was this then, Kirsty thought to herself sarcastically, a social call? I was bored so I rung up hell? What had she been thinking?

Part of her knew exactly what she been thinking. She just didn't want to admit it.

"This life you fight so hard to keep, is it even worth it anymore? You don't belong with them, that world is empty for you."

"Why me? I never did anything to deserve this."

"Your soul is tainted now, as guilty as any other within our reach. "

"But why?"

She repeated, her lip trembling, a familiar misty sheen on her eyes,

"I was innocent, I should have been..."

"Curiosity. You wanted to know. We would have shown you."

A single bitter laugh came from her.

"Bastards." The smile was humorless, "That's not really fair, is it?"

She nodded,

"I see, I guess. I can't really be innocent now. Not after Frank. Or Trevor. You were right about that, my family always made it so easy."

She risked taking her attention from him to scan the darkness for the others. She remembered the last time he had come to her. There had been some new ones, but the chattering teeth of what she considered one of 'her' Cenobites had been present. She half expected to see the obese one and the woman with her open throat appear as well. But they were alone here. No sign of other Cenobites, familiar or otherwise.

"You always did like talking to me. Where are the others? Or did you want me all to yourself this time?"

"Presumptuous, child."

"Prove me wrong then."

He made no move to call for the others.

She had hoped for a reaction, some small thing to make her feel like she had, if not some control, at least an effect on the situation. She received nothing but silence, which, she realized, was a reaction of sorts. He stared, and she stared back. The silence was too long for him to have justified, and at least she had an answer. With no apparent change he started speaking as if she hadn't asked him a question.

"It's time to go, Kirsty."

She looked up trying to be fierce and failing. She opened her mouth to protest and he humored her.

"What would you offer this time?"

She paused, long and poignant. She looked down as if searching for answers, then looked back up to him, unafraid. Almost defiant.

"I have nothing."

"Then I will have what is mine."

"I'm not afraid." She lied "I've gotten away before."

"No, not this time, child."

It was with a small, sad smile that she finally conceded.

"...I know."

She heard the chains clanking in the shadows and braced herself for what would follow. It was in her head not to give him the satisfaction of her cries when the hooks found her. At least, she thought to herself, at least at first, she would not scream.

The hooks tore into her flesh and the pain was nothing she had ever known but nothing compared to what she would.

She screamed.


End file.
